


Resolutions

by Marz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It, Gen, POV Sheriff Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski Feels, Stiles Feels, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:13:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9575303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marz/pseuds/Marz
Summary: Was anyone else bothered by the fact that when Matt took over the sheriff's station in season two, the Sheriff called out for Scott first when he heard the gunshot? This is my attempt at a fix-it.Stiles has been acting strange--well, strange even for him--and the Sheriff wants to know why. Little did he know when he forced this confrontation he would end up feeling like all the air had been punched out of his lungs. How long had Stiles been feeling like this? How could he not have noticed?





	

**Author's Note:**

> As stated in the summary, this is my attempt at a fix-it, as well as to delve into some major Stiles feels. It seriously bothered me that the Sheriff called out for Scott before Stiles when he heard the gun go off. Shouldn't he have called out for Stiles first, as he's his son? That plus other situations that will be mentioned in the fic below, made my heart hurt for Stiles. His dad is his entire world, and at that point I am of the belief that he feels like he's losing him. 
> 
> This story has been rattling around in my mind for way too long and just wasn't settling down. Hopefully I do my feelings justice. Enjoy!

The Sheriff sighed as he pulled into his driveway, taking note of the blue jeep already parked there. Turning off the cruiser, he took a moment to gather himself before he went inside to face whatever weirdness his son was going to force upon him today. 

Opening up the door to his house, he was immediately hit with a wave of what he supposed was some lemon scented cleaning product. As he got further in, the lemon scent started mixing with what seemed to be cooking lasagna, which did not do good things to his nose. 

“Stiles, what are you--?” he started, coming into the kitchen.

He had clearly startled his son, as Stiles suddenly straightened from where he was rubbing down their dining room table with a cloth, a spray can of some sort of cleanser in his other hand. “Dad! Hey, I didn’t hear you come in. Sorry, this was supposed to be done before you got home,” he said awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Don’t worry, I’ll air the room out before we eat, it’ll be like this never happened. Are you early? It seems like you’re early. Or am I late? Am I late?”

“Stiles, it’s fine--” he started again, only to be cut off by more ongoing chatter.

“No, this was supposed to be done so you wouldn’t have to worry about--”

“Stiles!” the Sheriff raised his voice to be heard, having the unintentional side effect of making Stiles flinch. Trying to lessen the sting, he softened his voice and tried to meet his son’s eyes, who seemed just as keen to avoid him. “Stiles, it’s okay. You know I always appreciate coming home to a clean house and dinner in the oven.”

At that Stiles glanced up at him for a brief moment before looking back down at his hands, where he was wringing the cloth with his fingers, and nodded slightly. 

As the Sheriff studied his son, uncharacteristically quiet and nervous, he suddenly realized how little he and Stiles had seen each other over the last several weeks. He had been working more hours, and been happy to do so since he had gotten his job back, and hadn’t been home much during the day. When he did make it home, there was always a meal waiting for him, even if Stiles had already long gone to bed for the night. He hadn’t thought much of it, appreciative of not having to cook for himself at the end of a long day. Now, however, he was beginning to suspect that he had missed something significant. 

Ever since Claudia had passed away, Stiles had taken over a lot of the household duties. He took it upon himself to do a lot of the cleaning, and after the Sheriff’s less than stellar cholesterol levels came back, most of the cooking, too. That’s not to say that the Sheriff didn’t usually do his fair share, but Stiles took on the brunt of the housework. The only things he absolutely hated doing were vacuuming and dusting, so those often fell to the Sheriff.

However, over the last several weeks, the Sheriff hadn’t had to do any sort of chore at all. The house had been completely spotless and all meals had been ready and waiting for him. The disappointment in himself sat low in his stomach. Obviously something was going on with his son and it had taken him weeks to figure it out. Some father he was.

“Stiles, is everything all right?”

At that Stiles raised his head and looked at him. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just wanted to wipe down the table, it was looking a little grungy.”

“I hadn’t noticed, but okay. I appreciate that. And I appreciate all the cooking and cleaning that you’ve been doing around the house recently.” That got a small smile. “You do know that you don’t have to do everything around here, right?”

Stiles shrugged a bit. “I don’t mind. You work really hard.” He peeked up at him through his lashes. “Do you want me to stop?”

The Sheriff hesitated. “It’s just...Stiles, unless I’m mistaken you’ve vacuumed at least twice this week and there isn’t a spec of dust to be found in the entire house. Now, I know just how much you hate doing those chores. You used to bribe me with anything you could think of to get out of doing them, and you are very creative when you want to be. So what’s really going on, son?”

“It’s nothing, dad, really. There’s nothing going on.”

The Sheriff crossed his arms and settled his weight comfortably on his feet. He wasn’t going anywhere until he got a straight answer. “Uh-huh. Try again.”

Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes. He never stopped playing with the rag in his hands, having put down the cleanser as soon as the Sheriff had walked in, his eyes flitting everywhere in the room except his father. “I’m just…” Stiles trailed off.

“Just what, Stiles?” the Sheriff asked quietly, softening his stance.

“Trying to be better.”

The Sheriff frowned in confusion. “Better? Better how?”

Stiles lifted one shoulder in a sort of half shrug, eyes firmly averted. “A better person. A better son.”

The Sheriff felt his jaw drop. “Stiles, what--?”

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid, nevermind. Forget I said anything,” Stiles said in a rush, going to pick up the cleanser again in an attempt to deflect any further questioning. “I’ll just finish this and go upstairs and finish my homework. The lasagna should be done in about half an hour, so--”

The Sheriff moved quickly to reach the cleanser first, not willing to let this go. “No, the table and the lasagna can wait. You thinking you’re a bad son can’t. Now what are you talking about?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he began.

The Sheriff rounded the table to stand next to his son, taking the cleaning rag out of his hands and grasping Stiles by his shoulders. “No,” he disagreed, “this is not nothing. Stiles, you are not a bad son. What made you think that?”

Stiles scoffed, involuntarily if the surprised face he made afterward was any indication, though he made no further attempt to respond.

“No, I want to know. What made you think that?”

Stiles rolled his eyes in a forced display of nonchalance. “Dad, come on. We both know that I’m not the son you wanted.”

The Sheriff felt like he had just had all the air punched out of his lungs. What the hell? Where was all this coming from? How had his son been hiding this and for how long that he didn’t even notice? He shook his head, partly in denial and partly in confusion. “That is not tr--”

“You don’t have to pretend, Dad, it’s okay,” Stiles said, looking down at the space between them. It was obvious that he was trying to be brave, but what was even more clear to the Sheriff was the pain and resignation in his eyes. He truly believed what he was saying and the Sheriff’s heart broke a little more. “I mean, you came right out and said that you don’t know who I am anymore and that you don’t trust me. And I don’t blame you or anything, so it’s okay. I just thought that it would be easier on you if I did things around the house--”

Suddenly the Sheriff remembered two different conversations with his son. The first was outside The Jungle when the police had been called to a scene with multiple victims having been paralyzed with what was thought to be drugs. “I don’t even recognize the kid standing in front of me anymore!” he remembered saying. 

And then there was the beginning of the terrible night at the station where a great number of his deputies were killed. He remembered standing in Stiles’ room with him and Scott, Stiles asking the Sheriff to trust him. He had said, “Trust you?”

Stiles had then backtracked, “Trust Scott?”

The Sheriff had nodded. “Scott I trust.” 

If he had known then what his words had done to his son...

“Stiles, no, no--” the Sheriff denied, shaking his head. That wasn’t what he had meant at all.

“Dad, I get it, it’s fine!” Despite the words, Stiles’ voice cracked. 

Giving him a little shake from where he was still holding Stiles’ shoulders, the Sheriff said, “No, it is not fine! You thinking that is not even remotely fine, Stiles! Not even in the vicinity!” By the time he was done speaking his voice was raised, which he only noticed because Stiles was trying to shrink in on himself. He cursed silently and ducked his head down, trying to get his son to meet his eyes. “Stiles, you are the only son I have ever wanted. I have never wished that you were someone else. Never, not once.”

Stiles was silent for a moment, seeming to wrestle with himself. When he looked up his eyes were wet and filled with an anguish that shattered what was left of the Sheriff’s heart. “Then why did you yell for Scott first when you heard the gun go off at the station that night? Why did you care more about him than me?”

It only took a moment for him to remember what Stiles was talking about. Matt had just handcuffed him to the wall in the jail when he heard a gunshot. His heart had jumped to his throat, terrified that one of the boys had been hurt or killed, and he had called out to them. And yes, he had indeed called for Scott first. There was no forethought in it, no malicious intent, but with everything else that had been echoing in Stiles’ mind since then, he knew that wouldn’t make it any less hurtful.

“Oh, Stiles,” he breathed, layers upon layers of regret in his voice. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

At that Stiles nodded and returned his gaze to the floor between them, once again resigned.

The Sheriff realized that, yet again, his son had taken what he said wrongly. He gently placed his hand on Stiles’ chin and raised his head. “That’s not what I meant. I have no excuse for what I said. I have never been so terrified in my life as when I heard that gun go off. The only thought in my head was that one of you had just been hurt or killed, that was it. I’m sorry for the way it came out and for the way you took it. That does not mean that I value Scott over you, or that I wished the universe had given me him as my son instead of you.” He let himself smile softly and ran his hand through Stiles’ hair, bringing it to rest along his jaw, cupping it gently. At the obvious affection in the gesture, he watched his son’s eyes well with tears. “You are my son, Stiles. No one else. I don’t want anyone else. You will never know how sorry I am that I let that thought cross your mind for even a moment. And I am sorry for not noticing that something was wrong sooner. I love you, and I will never stop loving you. Nothing could ever make me stop loving you.”

Stiles brought his hands up to his mouth in an attempt to stifle the sob that forced its way out of him. He was unable to do so and just sort of crumpled in on himself. Immediately the Sheriff brought him in close, holding him tightly to his chest. He closed his eyes against the sting of his own tears, feeling them slide down his face regardless of him trying to hold them back. God, how he had failed his child. Stiles sobbed against him, clutching the back of his shirt in tight, desperate handfuls. The Sheriff, in turn, held him firmly across his back, his other hand cradling the back of his head. 

Stiles cried against him for a long time, letting out what the Sheriff suspected was weeks and weeks worth of repressed fear and sadness and grief. How had he let this get so out of hand? He knew that Stiles was hiding something from him, most likely something big. Had he unconsciously been punishing him for keeping secrets? Well, whatever it was, it was over now. There was no way in hell he was ever letting them grow this far apart again. For God’s sake, his son thought that he didn’t want him anymore. It didn’t get any less okay than that. He didn’t even want to think of what Claudia’s thoughts on this whole mess would be. She would be incredibly disappointed in him, but no more than he was in himself. It was time for him to step up and start acting like a father again. 

When Stiles calmed and his tears stopped, it still took him long moments to find the strength to pull back. The Sheriff let him take as long as he needed, taking the time, himself, to soak up the comfort the feeling of holding his son offered. He eventually let his son step back, cupping the sides of his face to thumb away all evidence of the tears he had shed. Stiles smiled at this, leaning slightly into the touch. Unable to help himself, the Sheriff leaned forward and placed a long kiss on Stiles’ forehead.

“Now,” he said as he pulled away, “how long did you say the lasagna needed?”

Stiles blinked at him, apparently having completely forgot about dinner. “Um…” He glanced at the timer on the oven. “About fifteen minutes.”

“Good. That’s just enough time to set the table inside and find something to watch. What do you say?” He smiled hopefully.

Stiles echoed his smile. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll even let you put grated cheese on yours.”

“Oh, happy day,” he said dryly.

Stiles’ smile grew and he went to step around him to reach the silverware drawer.

“Hey,” the Sheriff said, making Stiles pause and look at him in question. “I love you, kid.”

Stiles’ eyes shone and he ducked in for another quick embrace. “I love you, too, Dad.” Then he was gone, setting the table for dinner.

The Sheriff watched him go, heart filled to bursting with love for his kid, and heavy with regret at the same time for causing him such pain. He would never forget this night, the night where his son thought his own father no longer wanted him. He would spend the rest of his life making sure Stiles knew that he could never be replaced, that he was forever loved and cherished. 

As they sat down together for dinner and Stiles chatted away, filling the room with all sorts of random trivia facts, obscure knowledge gained from many late night Wikipedia adventures, and scathing commentary on whatever they happened to be watching, the Sheriff thought he was off to a pretty good start.


End file.
